Learning to Fall by Jillian Eaton

didn’t have my wallet with-”
    “He loves you,” my roommate said matter-of-factly.
    I spit out my mouthful of wine back into my glass. “ Whitney .”
    “What?” She blinked innocently. “What did I say? Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m just giving you shit. It’s my official duty as your roommate and best friend. But I definitely think he likes you. Well, at least he liked you,” she amended with a snicker. “Now he probably thinks you’re batshit crazy.”
    Setting my glass of wine aside, I threw my head back and stared up at the ceiling. A long, zig-zagging crack ran diagonally across the white plaster, drawing my gaze to the far corner. “I am batshit crazy,” I said glumly. “I ran away from him, Whit. I literally ran away . Who does that? Crazy people,” I decided with a sigh.
    “And drug dealers. Which, hello, look on the brightside. At least you’re not one of those. Unless there’s something you need to tell me.”
    Tearing my eyes away from the ceiling, I dropped my chin to glare at her. “I am not a drug dealer.”
    “Listen” - grabbing another handful of popcorn, Whitney popped two pieces in her mouth and chewed loudly - “it’s not your fault you are the way you are. If I had the type of mother you did, I would be crazy too. You put too much pressure on yourself to be perfect all the time. If you just relaxed a little bit more, things would happen naturally.” Her eyebrows wiggled up and down. “And by naturally I mean you should be having freaky sex with Hottie McHot right now instead of drinking wine with me.”
    “Easier to say than do,” I muttered, picking at a stray thread on the blanket I had thrown over my lap. I didn’t want to be the way I was. I didn’t want to have to repeat my schedule every single morning in the shower. I didn’t want to plan out my entire day down to the minute. I didn’t want to feel as though if I wasn’t absolutely perfect - perfect daughter, perfect roommate, perfect professor - I was failing. That’s why I had come to Maine. Why I had run away from everyone and everything I knew. Because I wanted to change. In my heart I knew the pressure I put on myself wasn’t healthy, but in my mind…well, that was a different story altogether. One that had begun twenty years ago when my mother signed me up for my very first ballet class.
    As I’d gotten out of the car, my stomach filled with butterflies and excitement at the thought of meeting new friends and learning how to dance like the beautiful ballerinas I’d seen in The Nutcracker , my mother had laid a restraining hand on my arm. When I looked back at her, she’d coolly informed me I would get the lead in the end of the year recital.
    I will accept nothing less , she said before letting me out of the car.
    Most parents probably would have been happy if their daughter managed to get through an entire hour-long class without losing interest or having a temper tantrum, but not my mother. My mother had wanted - she’d demanded - perfection.
    And that was exactly what she’d gotten.
    For three months straight she dropped me off early and picked me up late. After class I wasn’t allowed to go on playdates with the other children. Instead I went home and practiced what I had learned for another hour. When all was said and done I didn’t make any friends, but I did get the lead.
    I was four-years-old.
    “Come on,” Whitney said as she bounded off the sofa. Still holding her wine glass in one hand, she grabbed my arm with the other and gave it a tug. “We’re getting up and we’re going out. Enough of this melancholy shit.”
    “Out?” I repeated, startled. I glanced down at my watch. “But it’s… it’s after nine o’clock.”
    My roommate rolled her eyes. “Mo, it’s a Sat-ur-day . And I refuse to let you sit here and mope for one more second.”
    “I wasn’t moping,” I lied. 
    “Seriously?” She cocked her head to the side. “Don’t pull that bullshit on me. I